The Willoughton Wanderer

"Eating my way through life one bite at a time!"

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Eating my way through life one bite at a time! My Willoughton Wanderer blog tells the story of my various visits to eateries, pubs and restaurants, both good and bad, on my travels together with the occasional recipe thrown in for good measure.

  • Thai-Style Mackerel: A Lesson in Zing, Heat… and Over-Marinating

    If there’s one thing I’ve learned pottering about the kitchen in Willoughton, it’s this: mackerel and I have an understanding. I promise to buy it fresh, fillet it neatly, and treat it with respect… and in return, it promises to fall apart spectacularly if I so much as look at it funny.

    And so we arrive at today’s dinner: a Thai-style mackerel with lime, chilli and garlic, inspired by the punchy flavours of Thai street food and the mild chaos of my own kitchen. Let’s just say the flavours were fabulous — the execution slightly less so. I’ll get to that.

    The Idea

    The plan was simple enough: rich, oily mackerel meets a bright, fresh marinade full of lime, fish sauce, ginger and chilli. A quick 20–30 minutes to soak up the flavours, then into a hot pan to crisp the skin and caramelise the glaze.

    That was the plan.

    What Actually Happened

    Picture this: a lovely filleted mackerel lounging in a bowl of marinade… for four hours. Yes, four. Don’t ask — we got distracted, didn’t we? Somewhere between sorting kiln shelves and discussing whether dogs would enjoy a Thai dinner (they would not), the poor fish continued bathing in lime juice.

    By the time it hit the pan, the marinade had started to cure it ceviche-style and the flesh was already a bit fragile. Then — because life loves to test us — it cooked faster than expected, going from “just starting to sizzle” to “oh no it’s falling apart” in record time.

    The final dish? Delicious flavours, but let’s just say the presentation was more “rustic fisherman’s plate” than “Bangkok night market chic.”

    Here’s the photographic proof — mackerel carnage:

    The Flavour (because that did work beautifully)

    Even with the over-marination, the flavours were fantastic: salty, tangy, garlicky and with that little back-of-the-throat heat that makes you reach for another forkful. Paired with rice tossed with leftover boiled eggs and spring onions and asparagus, it became a surprisingly comforting weekday dinner.

    The Proper Recipe (Do as I say, not as I do)

    If you fancy giving it a go — the right way — here’s the version that won’t fall apart on you:

    Thai-Style Mackerel with Lime, Chilli & Garlic

    Marinade:

    • 2 cloves garlic, finely chopped
    • 1 thumb ginger, grated
    • 1 red chilli, sliced
    • 1 tbsp fish sauce
    • 1 tbsp soy sauce
    • 1 tbsp honey or brown sugar
    • Juice & zest of 1 lime
    • 1 tbsp neutral oil

    Method:

    1. Mix everything together into a lively marinade.
    2. Coat the fillets and marinate for 20–30 minutes max (learn from my mistakes).
    3. Pan fry skin-side down for 3–4 mins, then flip for 1–2 mins — or grill/air fry if you prefer.
    4. Serve with jasmine rice or whatever carbs you’ve got hanging around.

    Final Thoughts

    Even if the fish disintegrates, even if the skin scorches, even if your rice steals the spotlight (it really did tonight), there’s something wonderfully forgiving about Thai flavours. The brightness and heat shine through regardless — and honestly, that’s half the joy of cooking at home.

    Besides, perfection is overrated. A good dinner with a good story? Much more fun.

    If anyone has a fool-proof mackerel technique before I attempt this again, you know where to find me.

  • Black Garlic Meatball Rice Bowl with Mustard & Fennel: A Wanderer’s Weekend Lunch Worth Repeating

    A blue ceramic bowl filled with fluffy white rice topped with glossy, caramelised pieces of German meatball coated in a black garlic glaze. The meatballs are sprinkled with toasted mustard and fennel seeds and a dusting of dried parsley. The bowl sits on a rustic wooden surface.

    Some weekend lunches are functional — a quick bite between errands, chores and kiln firings. And then there are those wonderfully unplanned dishes that stop you in your tracks, make you sit down properly, and enjoy something far better than the ingredients ever promised. This Black Garlic Meatball Rice Bowl belongs firmly in the latter camp.

    A simple plate: crisped German meatball pieces, fluffy rice, a glossy black-garlic glaze, and a scattering of mustard and fennel seeds that pop with aromatic warmth. Finished with dried parsley from the jar — a humble garnish, yes, but one that adds a welcome herbal brightness against all that dark sticky goodness. It may look rustic and unfussy, but the flavour is anything but.

    A Bowl Built on Contrasts

    What works so beautifully here is the play of textures and tastes. The meatballs, chopped into bite-sized pieces and browned until the edges caramelise, develop a deep savoury crust. Once they’re coated in black garlic ketchup and soy, everything turns lacquered and irresistible — each piece sticky, sweet, smoky and rich with umami.

    The toasted seeds add an almost surprising crunch:

    • Mustard seeds give tiny bursts of warmth and nuttiness.
    • Fennel seeds soften and perfume the dish with their subtle anise notes, threading an unexpected sweetness through the glaze.

    Even the dried parsley earns its place. Mixed into the hot meatballs it gives a soft, earthy lift, and sprinkled over the top it adds a fleck of green that brightens both the flavour and the look of the bowl.

    It’s a lunch that feels comforting but not heavy, quick but not rushed — exactly the sort of happy accident the Wanderer’s kitchen thrives on.

    Recipe: Black Garlic Meatball Rice Bowl with Toasted Seeds & Parsley

    Serves: 2
    Time: Around 10–15 minutes

    Ingredients

    • Cooked German meatballs, cut into small pieces
    • 1–2 tbsp oil
    • ½ tsp mustard seeds
    • ½ tsp fennel seeds
    • 2–3 tbsp black garlic ketchup
    • Splash of soy sauce
    • ½–1 tsp honey (optional but lovely)
    • Dried parsley (half mixed in, half sprinkled on top)
    • Cooked rice
    • Salt & pepper

    Method

    1. Brown the meatball pieces in hot oil until crisp around the edges.
    2. Toast the mustard and fennel seeds in the same pan until aromatic.
    3. Add the black garlic ketchup, soy, and honey, letting the sauce bubble and coat the meatballs in a sticky glaze.
    4. Stir in a sprinkle of dried parsley so it warms through.
    5. Serve over hot rice and finish with another dusting of dried parsley.

    How It Eats

    Every forkful delivers something pleasingly bold: the sweet-savory glaze, the crunchy seeds, the soft rice soaking up the sticky sauce. It’s the sort of lunch you eat slowly, appreciating each bite, despite how simple and thrown-together it started out.

    A little dish with big character — and one that’s likely to make a repeat appearance on many a Willoughton Wanderer weekend.

  • Lovely meal, warm welcome, and a small mix-up handled with good humour

    Entrance to The Woodyard restaurant in Bakewell, showing a stone building with an arched doorway, glass double doors, and signage above the entrance, with a small bridge and railings leading up to it.

    Bakewell is always a pleasure to visit, and on our latest wander through the town we found ourselves drawn to The Woodyard—a cosy, riverside spot with a relaxed atmosphere and an inviting menu. Despite turning up without a reservation (never guaranteed success in Bakewell!), we were shown straight to a table with a warm welcome. A good start.

    Menus arrived in abundance: the Lite Bites, the main menu, and the drinks list. Perfect. A pair of Peroni Zeroes were ordered while we mulled over lunch. Wanting something light, we opted for the “small” risotto and the “small” linguine from the Lite Bites selection, with the latter upgraded by the simple but irresistible addition of chorizo.

    When the dishes arrived, both steaming hot and beautifully presented, our first reaction was one of pleasant surprise. These were very generous for Lite Bites. In fact, they looked suspiciously like full portions, but enthusiasm won out over logic and we tucked in happily. The risotto was rich and comforting, and the linguine—with its chorizo—was fresh, flavourful, and just spicy enough to be interesting.

    Halfway through, we exchanged that familiar look: “This is delicious… but are we going to finish it?” By the time we’d reached the final stretch of each dish, it became clear that even our best efforts weren’t going to conquer the mountain. A few forkfuls reluctantly remained, not for lack of enjoyment but simply because our ambitions had exceeded our stomachs.

    It wasn’t until the bill arrived that the mystery was solved. The itemised prices made it clear that we hadn’t been given the Lite Bites at all—we’d been served the full-sized meals. Our waiter had mentioned, with a smile, that it was his first day, so it was an easy and understandable mistake. Certainly nothing worth making a fuss about. If anything, it gave us a story to laugh about as we waddled back out into the sunshine, considerably fuller than intended.

    Despite the mix-up, or perhaps because of it, our visit to The Woodyard was a genuinely lovely experience. The food was excellent, the ambiance calm and friendly, and the staff welcoming. Mistakes happen, especially on someone’s first day, and it didn’t detract from a very enjoyable lunch. We’d happily return—and next time, perhaps we’ll bring our appetites for the full-size portions… just in case!

  • Venney’s at The Granby – A Hidden Gem on the A16

    Interior of Venney’s at The Granby near North Thoresby – a stylish restaurant with modern décor, dark wood flooring, soft lighting, and greenery with fairy lights hanging above the bar area. A member of staff stands behind the bar preparing orders, while neatly set tables line the room.

    Finding ourselves meandering along the A16 between Grimsby and Louth on a brisk autumn day, we decided to pull in somewhere for lunch. As we approached North Thoresby, a sign for Venney’s at The Granby caught our eye. From the outside, the building doesn’t exactly shout “culinary delight” — a rather grey and unassuming façade that could easily be overlooked if you didn’t know better. But step through the door, and you’re greeted with something quite unexpected.

    Inside, Venney’s is a revelation. The décor is modern and inviting, with warm lighting, rich earthy tones, and elegant detailing that immediately gives it a calm, contemporary feel. The bar area is beautifully adorned with hanging greenery and soft fairy lights, casting a gentle glow across the space. It’s the sort of interior that manages to feel both upmarket and welcoming — no pretension, just quiet confidence and style. There’s a comfortable mix of tables for dining and high stools at the bar, and the overall layout feels open yet intimate. Whoever designed it has struck exactly the right balance.

    Arriving just on midday without a reservation, we were shown straight to a table of our choice — one of the perks of being early. Menus in hand, we set about the enjoyable task of deciding what to have. There’s a well-rounded selection here, ranging from tempting starters such as dressed crab with citrus and dill mayonnaise or garlic mushroom bruschetta with blue cheese and sourdough croutons, through to hearty mains like traditional haddock with hand-cut chips, mushy or garden peas, lemon and tartar sauce.

    After much consideration, both of us gravitated towards the Chicken Parmigiana — described as a breaded chicken breast topped with melted mozzarella, crispy bacon, and Napoli sauce, served with fries and a dressed salad. At £16.95, it felt fairly priced for what promised to be a generous main course.

    Chicken Parmigiana served at Venney’s at The Granby – a golden breaded chicken breast topped with melted mozzarella and rich Napoli sauce, accompanied by a pot of crisp fries and a small dressed salad on a dark ceramic plate.

    The wait was just long enough to suggest that everything was freshly prepared, and when the dishes arrived, that impression was confirmed. The chicken was beautifully cooked — moist, tender, and perfectly coated in its rich Napoli sauce. The melted mozzarella gave it that comforting, slightly indulgent edge, while the bacon added a welcome savoury note. The fries arrived in a smart ceramic pot, golden and crisp, just begging to be tipped out onto the plate. They didn’t last long. The salad was light and well-balanced — not the afterthought that it so often can be — with a refreshing dressing that complemented the dish rather than overpowering it.

    In short, it was an excellent meal. The flavours were well judged, the presentation thoughtful, and the portion size generous without being over the top. The only thing left on my plate was the single lettuce leaf that had acted as the salad’s base. A minor casualty in an otherwise flawless lunch.

    Empty plate after finishing the Chicken Parmigiana at Venney’s at The Granby, showing only a few sauce remnants, cutlery, and a single lettuce leaf with dressing – the sign of a thoroughly enjoyed meal.

    As for the service, it was friendly and efficient without ever feeling rushed. The staff were attentive and approachable, adding to the relaxed, polished atmosphere that makes Venney’s stand out from so many roadside pubs.

    It’s fair to say that Venney’s at The Granby is one of those unexpected finds that restores your faith in casual dining. What looks like an ordinary roadside pub from the outside turns out to be a beautifully styled restaurant serving freshly cooked food of a very high standard. Whether you’re passing through or live locally, it’s well worth stopping in.

    We’ll certainly be back — perhaps next time to sample that dressed crab or the haddock and chips.

  • Sticky Tables and Evaporated Dreams

    Finding ourselves in Grimsby on business (oh, the joy!) we decided to pause for a caffeine fix before tackling the rest of the day. The choice fell, somewhat by default, on Bakers + Baristas inside Freshney Place shopping centre — one of those modern, anonymous coffee chains that seem to multiply like mushrooms after rain. Still, ever the optimist, I thought a decent flat white might redeem the morning.

    Mrs Wanderer gamely joined the queue while I went in search of a table. My first choice was less than inviting: a scattering of sticky coffee spills, crumbs, and the unmistakable ring marks of recently departed cups. Clearly, table cleaning isn’t high on the staff’s list of priorities. I moved to another. Equally grim. A third. Still sticky. By this point, I’d lost the will to continue my treasure hunt for cleanliness and settled down, trying not to touch too much of the surface.

    Mrs W soon reappeared with our order — a cappuccino for her, a flat white for me. I took one look at mine and felt my hopes sink. It had that unmistakable machine-made look about it: the froth as white as snow, piled high and featureless, with none of the silky crema or leaf motif you get when someone actually knows how to pour a coffee. It looked like something dispensed from a button rather than crafted by hand.

    Nevertheless, I took a sip. Weak. Lifeless. And then the flavour hit me — not of freshly ground beans or roasted notes, but something oddly familiar. Evaporated milk. It was like being transported straight back to my grandfather’s kitchen in the 1980s, when “coffee” meant a teaspoon of instant and a generous glug of Carnation from a tin. I’m all for nostalgia, but not in my espresso.

    I took it back to the counter and, in my politest tone, asked whether it had been made on a proper espresso machine. The young “barista” blinked at me and said, “I like to think so.” That reply alone deserves its own space in the annals of customer service. To her credit, she remade the drink, but alas, the second attempt fared no better. Somehow, it still managed to taste like evaporated milk, albeit with slightly more determination.

    Meanwhile, Mrs W was gamely working through her cappuccino, which she declared “fine.” Not praise exactly, but at least drinkable — a small mercy.

    By the time we left, the sticky tables remained sticky, the coffee machine was still doing whatever it was doing, and I was no closer to understanding how anyone could make coffee taste like the 1980s in liquid form.

    So, if you find yourself in Grimsby and in desperate need of caffeine, my advice would be to keep walking. There must be somewhere nearby that knows its way around an espresso machine — or at least has a clean table.

    Verdict: 2/5 — saved only by Mrs W’s cappuccino being marginally acceptable and the barista’s unintentional sense of humour.

  • A Spot of Lunch (and a Little Queue) at Bettys Tearoom, Harrogate

    Close-up of Bettys Harrogate haddock, salmon and prawn gratin topped with golden breadcrumbs and fresh chives.

    Having been gifted a set of Bettys Tearoom vouchers by our family back in the spring, we finally managed to put them to good use this week with a visit to the famous Harrogate branch. It’s one of those places you always mean to go to but somehow never quite get around to — until someone gives you the perfect excuse.

    Now, if you’ve ever been to Bettys, you’ll know that part of the experience begins before you even step inside. There’s a rather quirky queuing system on the pavement outside, where visitors shuffle forward in quiet anticipation of tea, cake, and all things delicious. On the day we visited, the breeze was certainly brisk enough to keep us moving — Yorkshire air with a bit of bite to it!

    To their credit, the Maitre D’ was doing a fine job of keeping order, taking note of each party’s size and handing out menus to those waiting in line. A small but thoughtful touch — and one that makes the time pass quite pleasantly. When he reached us and saw we were a table for two, we were soon ushered inside ahead of the larger groups still waiting. Result!

    Once seated in the warm glow of the tearoom, we took a proper look at the menu, though we’d already done most of the browsing while out in the queue. Bettys’ offerings are famously extensive — everything from breakfasts and light bites to hearty lunches, plus the dazzling array of cakes, tarts and patisserie glistening temptingly from the counter.

    As it was lunchtime, Mrs Wanderer went for the bacon raclette while I opted for the haddock, salmon and prawn gratin, both accompanied by a side of tenderstem broccoli with garlic. Despite the place being absolutely heaving (and I do mean full to the brim), the service was smooth and cheerful, and the food arrived after a reasonable wait.

    My gratin was excellent — generous in portion, rich and creamy beneath its golden layer of toasted breadcrumbs, and the fish perfectly cooked. Mrs Wanderer’s raclette looked equally inviting, a bubbling dish of comfort that matched the cosy surroundings.

    The only slight hiccup came with the broccoli. It was, shall we say, more “stem” than “tender” — rather woody at the ends and not quite cooked through. When we mentioned it to our attentive waiter, he seemed genuinely surprised, saying the kitchen normally trims the tougher parts. Without hesitation, he took one portion off the bill as a gesture of goodwill. A small thing, but it spoke volumes about Bettys’ approach to service — attentive, fair, and quietly professional.

    By the time we’d finished, the queue outside was still as long as ever, proof (if ever it were needed) that Bettys remains a Yorkshire institution for a reason. Between the polished service, the delicious food, and the nostalgic charm of the place, it’s easy to see why generations of visitors keep returning.

    All in all, a lovely afternoon — even if it began with a slightly windswept wait on the pavement! We’ll definitely be back, perhaps next time for afternoon tea and a fat slice of something sweet.

    Highly recommended.

  • Harissa Heat and Lincolnshire Soul: Sticky Chicken with Spiced Lentils

    Close-up of sticky harissa and lime glazed chicken thigh served on a bed of spiced lentils, glistening with caramelised edges and rich tomato-chilli sauce, presented on a blue stoneware plate.

    There are days when the best meals come not from a recipe book but from a quick rummage through the kitchen cupboards — the kind that reveals forgotten treasures, mismatched jars, and endless possibilities. This little lunchtime adventure began with a single chicken thigh and a guilty glance at the ever-growing jar collection (yes, that harissa really did need using). The result? A gloriously sticky, spicy plateful with all the warmth of North Africa and the comfort of home.

    The chicken was marinated in a spirited mix of harissa paste, mustard, marmalade, lime pickle and soy — a curious combination that somehow sings in harmony. As it sizzled in the pan, the glaze caramelised into a fiery-sweet crust while the kitchen filled with that unmistakable chilli-and-citrus perfume.

    The spiced lentils that followed are humble but hearty, simmered gently with tomato, soy and balsamic for richness. Together, they make the kind of dish that feels both adventurous and familiar — the sort you’d happily serve to friends with a knowing grin and a bottle of something chilled.

    Proof, if ever it were needed, that great cooking doesn’t start with a shopping list — it starts with curiosity and a good cupboard.

    Lunch was eaten in companionable silence, save for the scrape of fork against plate and a satisfied sigh. A meal born of leftovers but elevated by imagination — and one I’ll gladly make again the next time a single chicken thigh stares back at me.

  • Steak, Frites, and a Side of Salad Regret at The Hare & Hounds

    A plate of Steak Frites served at The Hare & Hounds in Fulbeck, Lincolnshire. The dish features tender, sliced steak cooked medium-rare, golden fries, and a generous helping of mixed salad with cherry tomatoes, cucumber, and leaves. Photographed close-up on a white plate, showing vibrant colours and textures.

    The Hare & Hounds at Fulbeck is one of those picture-perfect Lincolnshire country pubs — all stone walls, hanging baskets, and an easy village charm. We were meeting a couple of friends for lunch and, unusually for us, actually arrived on time. Drinks were ordered (Peroni Zero for me, as I’d drawn the short straw on driving duty), and we settled down to study the menu.

    It’s a decent enough line-up of classic pub comfort dishes — sausage and mash, steak and ale pie, fish and chips — with a few more refined offerings on the reverse side such as salmon or the “fish of the day”, which turned out to be sea bream.

    Mrs Wanderer opted for the chicken with dauphinois potatoes and a lovely tangle of fine beans and sugar snaps. I, having already eyed it up online, went straight for the Steak Frites.

    Now, the steak itself was spot-on — tender, sliced into ribbons, and cooked beautifully pink just as I like it. Absolutely superb. The “frites”, however, were less convincing — a bit of a lottery between decent lengths and odd inch-long stubs. But the biggest surprise was the mountain of mixed salad that dominated the plate: halved cherry tomatoes, lettuce, and red onion aplenty, yet somehow no dressing in sight. It all felt a bit… unfinished.

    Steak Frites, to me, is a dish of simple harmony — rich meat, crisp fries, and just enough freshness to lift it. It wouldn’t take much to turn this into something really special in a Modern British way. Lose the undressed salad, perhaps, and bring in something with a bit of flair and purpose. Think Tenderstem broccoli with lemon and chilli butter, lightly charred for a touch of zing. Or maybe roasted carrots with honey and thyme for a sweet, earthy counterpoint. Even crispy kale or cavolo nero with garlic and sea salt would have added that salty crunch the dish was crying out for.

    At £22.95, my Steak Frites wasn’t exactly cheap, and that made the salad misstep sting a little more.

    Would I rush back? I’m not sure. The staff were lovely — friendly, attentive, and everything you’d hope for — but the food just didn’t quite deliver the wow factor the price promised. A pleasant lunch in a lovely setting, yes. But memorable? Not quite.

  • From Wok to Table in Minutes: Chicken Stir-Fry with Black Bean Sauce

    A vibrant Chinese chicken stir-fry served in a deep blue bowl, featuring chunks of chicken thigh coated in glossy black bean sauce with red and yellow peppers, mushrooms, celery, and spring onions, set on a rustic wooden table.

    There are some dishes that never fail to deliver comfort in a bowl, and a good stir-fry is one of them. Quick, colourful, and bursting with flavour, this Chinese-style chicken stir-fry is the kind of lunchtime winner that comes together in minutes yet looks like you’ve made a proper effort. Juicy chicken thigh, vibrant peppers, earthy mushrooms, and crisp celery are all coated in a glossy black bean and soy sauce glaze that clings to every bite. Served as it is, or spooned over steamed rice or noodles, it’s the sort of dish that makes you feel like you’ve smuggled a takeaway chef into your own kitchen.

    Ingredients (Serves 2–3)

    • 500g boneless, skinless chicken thighs, cut into bite-sized chunks
    • 1 red pepper, sliced into strips
    • 1 yellow pepper, sliced into strips
    • 150g mushrooms, sliced
    • 2 sticks celery, thinly sliced
    • 2 spring onions, chopped (reserve a little for garnish)
    • 1 tsp garlic powder (or 2 fresh cloves, minced)
    • 2 tbsp soy sauce
    • 2 tbsp black bean sauce
    • 1 tbsp vegetable oil (or groundnut oil)
    • ½ tsp sugar (optional, to balance the sauce)
    • Pinch of black pepper

    Method

    1. Heat the oil in a wok or large frying pan over a medium-high flame.
    2. Add the chicken pieces and stir-fry for 5–6 minutes until golden and nearly cooked through.
    3. Toss in the celery, peppers, and mushrooms. Cook for another 3–4 minutes until the vegetables start to soften but still keep some crunch.
    4. Sprinkle over the garlic powder and add the spring onions. Stir well.
    5. Pour in the soy sauce and black bean sauce, tossing everything until the chicken and veg are glossy and coated. If you like it a touch sweeter, stir in the sugar at this point.
    6. Season with black pepper, adjust to taste, and serve immediately.

    ✨ Serve on its own for a lighter bite, or pile onto fluffy jasmine rice or a bed of noodles for a more filling meal.

    And there you have it — a stir-fry that ticks all the boxes: quick, colourful, and seriously satisfying. What I love most is the way the black bean sauce wraps everything in that savoury, umami-rich hug while the peppers and celery keep things fresh and lively. Proof, if ever it were needed, that a great lunch or dinner doesn’t have to take hours at the stove. Next time the takeaway menu tempts you, remember this recipe and give it a whirl — your wok (and your taste buds) will thank you.

  • A Quick Flat White That Left a Bitter Note

    A close-up of a flat white coffee in a white cup and saucer on a wooden table, with a layer of frothy milk foam on top.

    Whilst Mrs Wanderer was having her eyes tested (a thrilling outing for her, I’m sure), I decided to sneak off in search of a little pick-me-up. Nothing too adventurous — just a flat white at Cream Coffee Shop in Gainsborough’s Marshall’s Yard.

    Now, if you don’t know Marshall’s Yard, it’s a smart little shopping spot housed around what used to be a Victorian ironworks. These days, instead of rolling out steel, it rolls out cappuccinos, handbags, and the occasional chain restaurant. Cream is tucked away in one of the quieter corners, right beside an estate agent. You could almost miss it if you didn’t have your nose trained in the general direction of coffee beans.

    I ordered my flat white, and it arrived quicker than I could say “extra shot.” At first I thought, hang on, that was fast — surely it can’t be the real deal? For a split second I pictured someone nipping round the back with a kettle and a tin of something instant. But no, a sneaky glance towards the counter revealed the reassuring presence of a proper commercial espresso machine, so all was well on that front.

    The coffee itself, though, wasn’t quite to my taste. It had that faintly “stewed” flavour, as if the beans had been sitting a bit too long in the sun before making their way into the grinder. The aftertaste was a touch on the bitter side too — the sort of bitterness that clings on longer than an awkward conversation at a village fete. Of course, that might simply be the blend they buy in, and taste is subjective. Plenty of people seem to enjoy it, judging by the number of happy-looking customers around me.

    On the plus side, Cream is a nice enough spot to sit with a cup. The atmosphere is pleasant, the staff were friendly, and the general population of Gainsborough seems to like it just fine. For me, though, it probably won’t become a regular haunt. I’ll file it under “emergency coffee stops” — handy when desperation calls, but not somewhere I’d detour for a caffeine treat.

    Still, when it comes to coffee, it’s always worth trying somewhere new. You never know — the next cup might just be the one that makes you forget about eye tests entirely.